on being found
by Politic X
Summary: Making up with Miranda never felt like absolution.  Andrea/Miranda


**on being found...**  
>by Politic X <p>

Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada

Pairing: Andrea / Miranda  
>Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada is not owned by me; I'm not making money.<br>Summary: A short-short, in response to Wake the Muse: DWP Comment Ficathon , and the request by ikbenniethier : _Soon We'll be Found -sia furler-_ I **loved** this prompt. My favorite prompt for ages. The song is new to me, and it's gorgeous, and I listened to it a billion times while writing this. So thank you ikbenniethier for that.  
>Thanks to my beta: sheknowsnofear, who, after all this time, still takes out her ruler and whaps my wrists, thank god.<p>

###

Miranda was on top, fingers gripping Andy's shoulders, head on her chest, hair tickling. Sweat dampened Andy's neck; her arms were numb.

She would be bruised under Miranda's fingers. She would have scratches on her hips.

"We should get up," Miranda said. She sounded tired, and there was nothing warm in her tone. But then, this wasn't an affectionate postcoital embrace. This was Miranda holding her down, making her stay.

The girls had late school, then piano. Stephen, however, had nothing on his calendar for this evening. Andy nodded silently. She and Miranda couldn't remain like this - half naked, hair mussed, makeup smeared, smelling of sex, wrapped around each other like they'd been wrestling.

She struggled with the disappointment - the wasteland that her life became each time Miranda banished her back to her role as employee. Disappointment that was turning into something like depression.

Something had happened when they'd begun this affair - the spark that had started it was still there, but there was a desperation to it, fueled by the necessary secrecy - and it wasn't at all what Andy had hoped it would be. Had thought it could be. She believed that Miranda was disappointed as well.

The gradual realization that it was becoming too much - both working and sleeping with Miranda – had snuck up on her over the past week, and she'd walked around with a letter of resignation in her purse. She had put it on the editor's desk first thing that morning. Miranda hadn't taken it well.

Miranda, in fact, had taken it as an affront. "_You're_ leaving _me_?" she had asked once they were behind closed office doors.

Andy had whispered furiously that she was tired of being a fuck toy, and walked out, and regretted it immediately.

Miranda called her before she reached the ground floor of the Elias-Clarke building.

They met at the townhouse. They argued. They made up. But making up with Miranda never felt like absolution. Making up with Miranda felt to Andy like being in a room where a gun had just gone off, and being glad that she hadn't been hit, or that she hadn't been hit intentionally, or that, despite being hit, she hadn't been severely injured. But no matter the state of Andy's well-being, the air was rarely clear. And even when it was, there was always that acrid residue of violent intentions.

Miranda made no move to rise, so Andy stroked her back. It was more for her sake than Miranda's - she was trying to enjoy the moment while it lasted. There was never enough touching; Miranda preferred they go their separate ways after mutual orgasms had been reached. This was the longest they'd spent together after sex, and Miranda seemed quite relaxed, while Andy grew increasingly anxious. She almost jumped out of her skin when Miranda's cell chirped with a text.

Miranda extended her arm, but otherwise didn't move until Andy grabbed it off the side table and placed it in her hand. Miranda pressed some buttons with her thumb and eyed the phone sleepily. "Stephen. He's on his way. Would you like him to bring dinner?"

Andy almost bolted off the bed, but Miranda was a dead weight on top of her.

"No need to panic," she said a bit sarcastically, and didn't move.

"We need to get up, Miranda," Andy said. Her heart pounded. If Stephen texted that he was on the way… who knew where he was? Sometimes he was as unpredictable as Miranda.

Miranda let the cell phone drop on the bed and stroked Andy's hair absently. "Let's stay a while."

"Miranda…" Andy tried shifting beneath her.

"If _anyone _resigns, it should be him."

Andy became still.

"He should have submitted a letter of resignation long ago." Miranda hummed as if amused with herself, and turned her head a bit, cheek pressing against Andy's chest. "Your heart is beating fast as a little rabbit."

"What… what are you saying? You want him to _find _us?" When Miranda didn't immediately reply, Andy's mind began racing fast as her heart. "That's not right," she said. "I don't want him to find out like this. It's not a very fair thing to do to somebody."

"He's not a fair man," Miranda countered. "I could begin a litany, but I think you'll hear enough in the coming months."

"I don't want to be here when he gets home. I don't want to be a part of all this. It's between you and Stephen-"

"That's where you're wrong. You are a part of it, whether or not you're here when he finds out."

Andy pressed her lips together. Her entire body was so strung with tension that she felt she could break.

Miranda raised up to look at her. "Stay with me through this. Right now. Tell me you will."

Of course she would. Andy felt the sickening pain of a migraine coming on, but she'd stay at Miranda's side to face Stephen. She nodded.

Miranda touched her face and kissed her cheek, and began pressing little kisses to her jaw. "You can let go now," she murmured, nibbling Andy's ear.

Andy released her arms, which had been holding Miranda in a vise. She felt Miranda smile against her cheek.

"I meant that figuratively," she said. "You've been holding your breath for five months. Let go." She lifted her head and her gaze was so tender and kind that Andy almost cried.

"I thought…" Andy said. "I thought this was just…"

Miranda waited, watching her.

"I thought all you wanted was sex."

Miranda brushed Andy's bangs from her eyes. She seemed to choose her words. "It won't do for you to guess these things." She gave her a steady look, a look that meant Andy was supposed to remember this. "Sex may very well be the least of what I want, Andrea."

Andy swallowed and swallowed again. "Oh," but the word came out so soft it hardly made a sound in the room. Something fragile, that had been under heavy guard, stirred in Andy's chest.

"If you want nothing more than sex, I suggest you leave before Stephen arrives."

Andy shook her head, and Miranda looked at her proudly, like she had saved the day. It was redeeming, that look. Like things would be okay. Andy leaned in and kissed her, and it was so soft and sweet, achingly, achingly sweet, that a tear leaked from her eye, and another, and Miranda began kissing them all away.

Andy put her arms around Miranda protectively again, then shifted her. "Let's move," she said in Miranda's ear. "I want to be on top."

Miranda knew, when she looked at her - Andy could tell. She knew what Andy was thinking, but Miranda had just told her not to make guesswork of their relationship, and she wanted to be clear. "I want to be on top when he comes in," Andy said. She didn't want Stephen seeing his wife on top of her assistant, as if coercing her.

The process of turning them over, switching positions, was slow due to Miranda's prolonged kisses, which felt very much to Andy like gestures of gratitude. She whispered something Andy barely caught - something about how she could let out her own breath now, couldn't she? - and then began nibbling her ear again. "Soon we'll be found," Miranda murmured, thinking, no doubt, of her husband, who would be home any minute.

"Yeah," Andy said, thinking of love and the power of redemption. She held on so tightly that Miranda would be bruised under her fingers. She would have scratches on her hips.

/end


End file.
